Heaven Can Wait
by Dologram
Summary: When Harry reacts slightly more realistically to the death of his peer and the return of his parents killer, these reactions worry Hermione more than he could have thought. Hermione refuses Dumbledore's suggestion of writing to Harry and keeps in contact with him throughout the summer, and even meets up with him a couple of times.
1. I'd Do Anything For Love

**I'd Do Anything For Love...**

The mood in the Great Hall was desperately somber, and the quiet spoke volumes. The hushed talking between each table was a far cry from the usual cat-calling and yelling that arose. Even the Slytherin table seemed depressed. Losing a student would do that to a school.

Harry kept his head down, and miserably stirred his soup with his spoon, not hungry in the slightest. He kept his head down right the way through dinner, until Professor Dumbledore sighed loudly, and stood up.

"Cedric Diggory," he spoke "was always a happy student. He brought joy to many, and seldom brought sadness to others. He helped those in need of it, and those he did not know, because he was a kind-hearted gentleman. That type of a man is rare these days, and it is a tragedy to have had him torn from us so suddenly."

"After a long discussion with Minister Fudge, I can confirm that Hogwarts will remain open. It has been concluded that as death's are unfortunately common within the TriWizard Tournament, that the school was not at fault." Dumbledore held up a hand to silence the light hubbub that had arisen, and his eyes hardened slightly as he spoke his next peice. "Now I know that many of you suspect foul play on behalf of Mr. Potter, but questioning under Veritaserum and a thorough Ministry Investigation have proven beyond a shadow of doubt that Mr. Potter had absolutely nothing to do with this death. I am shocked and disappointed that so many of you jumped to believe that he, or any other student of this school could even fathom such a course of action."

Harry snorted loudly. "Don't be."

The room fell silent, and Harry felt every eye turn to him, something he had unfortunately gotten used to with his unwanted fame. Unwanted eyes, and unwanted ears, but this time, he needed them. He stood up in his chair, chuckling darkly. "They wouldn't know the difference between a murderer and a chair even if the murderer had a bleeding placard around their neck."

The silence in the hall was deafening.

"I mean, it's miraculous the things I've heard about myself for example. I must learn something new everyday. There must only be about thirty or so people in here who were close to Cedric, and are genuinely traumatised by this, and my heart goes out to them. Most people, however, could give less of a crap. They're just being polite and we all know this. Cedric was an amazing person, and every person who goes around in the halls proclaiming he was their best friend is a disgrace to his memory and everything he stood for."

"As I was saying, this isn't the first time the students of this simply _amazing_ institute has thrown me under the bus because it was easier than an in depth investigation, you know, how it _should_ be done. Now, the beginning of this year, even my second year here for God's sake. I have never met a group of more judgmental people in my life before I came here."

"Maybe if you stopped seeking attention, and stopped trying to be a part of everything that is slightly out of sync in this school, you might not have this problem." Snape stood up, foaming. "Now, for instance. We want to respect and mourn for our dead, but you stand up like you own the place. This doesn't give you power. This doesn't make you wealthy. Just stop it, Potter, and give us a chance to mourn Mr. Diggory. Maybe you could sit down, and think about a wise and productive old age, instead of wasting your youth, by being such an attention seeker! Your father would have done the exact same thing, inconsiderate to his surroundings and only out to further himself!"

Harry stared him down, and the whole hall stared in shock. Evryone knew of Snape's treatment of Harry, but it had never escalated this far. While Harry usually would have backed down at that, he was too full of rage at how the school treated him and how Snape thought it was okay to use Cedric as an excuse to rip on him, as per usual. "Calm it there, bat. Don't you dare use Cedric Diggory as an excuse to have your little jibes at me." Harry said in a voice full of rage, before turning around and walking out.

* * *

The fourth year boy's dormitory was unsurprisingly empty. Most of the occupants were at the leaving feast that Harry had just walked out on.

Harry Potter scanned the room briefly just to make sure none of his belongings were where they weren't supposed to be, and satisfied that they weren't, he began to pack his trunk for the inevitable return to the Dursleys. He started with his broomstick, and the next thing he knew, he was placing a folded up tie on a full trunk.

He wasn't leaving Hogwarts the same person he had entered it as, and though it had come under terrible circumstances, and at a terrible cost, he felt he was better off for it. Cedric's death made the return of Voldemort all the more real to him, and reminded him that this wasn't a game of chess, or a logic puzzle to get through some fire, or a flying key. This was a war, and this was real, and there were casualties.

He packed some basic clothes into a rucksack he planned on taking with him to change into on the train, and then turned around and left the room, all the while trying to think about what he was supposed to do in a war. Sure, Cedric's death had made this all the more real, but he was still scared as hell. Fourteen year old boy's are not supposed to be in wars, let alone the target of magic wizard Hitler.

The common room wasn't very busy either, though a couple of sixth and third years were milling about the place. The common room fell silent as the occupants noticed him however, and that just made it worse. Some blamed him for the death of another student, and others didn't know what to say. Nobody was really sure what had happened yet, with Voldemort returning and he doubted they were going to find out until it was published in the _Daily Prophet_ in a couple of days.

Hermione came through the portrait hole, presumably returning from the Great Hall where she had spent the majority of her evening. She looked as beautiful as ever.

She didn't speak as she approached him, and didn't speak when she got near. She didn't say a single word, even as she wrapped him up in one of her one-of-a-kind tight 'Hermi-hugs.' There was nothing that needed saying at that moment, and he just nestled his head into her shoulder. He didn't cry, and neither did she. They just stood there for a few minutes, gently rocking from side to side as they embraced.

"I'm not going to ask if you're OK," Hermione whispered to him, seemingly unaware of the common room that had awkwardly turned away. "because I know you aren't. I hope you know I'm always here for you."

"I'm sorry 'Mione." Harry mumbled into her shoulder. "I don't know what came over me tonight."

"It's OK Harry."

Hermione tried to let go of him, but Harry clutched her tighter, and now his tears started rolling. "Don't go," he croaked. "Please don't go. I need you to stay Hermione. Just talk to me."

Hermione stopped instantly, and again wrapped him in one of her hugs. "Of course Harry. What do you want me to talk about?"

"Absolutely anything." Harry whispered, just needing to get his mind off everything he had been through in the past eighteen hours. Just needing to cope with what he had seen, and heard and done. Just needing to hear Hermione's comforting voice.

And so Hermione did, and they sat down on a sofa in the common room and she quietly chatted away to him about anything that sprang to her mind. She told him about what she had been reading about at the library, what Crookshanks had been up to that morning, what her plans for the holiday were, or lack there of them. She told him her favourite colour, and about how she wanted to change the wizarding world to be more accepting of muggles and muggleborns as she grew up. She told him her ambitions, and Harry listened to each and every single thing she had to say, without saying a single word of his own. There were times the conversation, if it could be called that, lapsed into silence, but Hermione always found something interesting to tell him about, and always found a way to keep that velvety smooth voice of hers to continue. They must have sat like that for a few hours at least, as by the time they stood up, the common room was completely empty.

After a quiet goodnight, and another hug, they separated and made their way towards their respective dormitory's. Hermione lay in her bed that night, and all she could think about was Harry. He seemed damaged and different after the third task, and she could only hope that it wasn't permanent. She briefly wondered if there was ever a time when she _didn't_ worry about Harry.

' _I need you to stay Hermione.'_ Those words reverberated around her head, and with each her worry increased ten-fold. She wished she could help him, but knew that whatever had happened to him couldn't be unseen. He hadn't fully opened up about what had happened, and only the basics, that being Voldemort's return, and Cedric's death.

She could tell that a lot more had happened that he simply didn't want to let her in on, and that both upset her and annoyed her. Upset beacause she felt it meant that he couldn't trust her, and annoyed because she felt it her business to look after her Harry, which she couldn't do if he didn't tell her anything. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he probably wasn't telling anybody because it was too terrible. She bit her lip nervously, and after about half an hour, fell into a fitful and restless sleep.

* * *

Hermione woke late on the last day of school, and though she had packed everything a couple of nights ago, she still rushed her morning routine, leaving her with absolutely nothing to do as she stepped out of the shower. She got changed and sat cross-legged on her bed, fiddling with her wand. Harry had scared her last night, whether he had meant to or not, and she wanted to be with him. However she just needed a moment.

A dark hand emerged from the door and pushed it open, revealing the pretty Parvati Patil who wore a smile on her face. "Hey Hermione, Dumbledore wants to talk to you. Dunno why, but he said it was important."

Hermione started slightly, but managed to fix a smile onto her face quick enough, before Parvarti started asking questions. "Ok, thanks. Did he say what time, or do I just go now?"

Parvarti shrugged. "He didn't say anything about the times, so I'd assume you can go whenever, but I'd go now if you want to get a good seat on the Express. I think it's about Harry's little speech last night."

Hermione walked downstairs and out of the common room, dissapointed to see Harry wasn't down yet. She had mixed feelings where her best friend was concerned, and wasn't fully sure how to deal with them. She knew he was her best friend and she would do anything for him, but he needed to let her in.

She made her way through the cold stone corridors, and eventually reached the stone gargoyle that signified Dumbledore's office, which made her mouth dry. She had only been here a couple of times and every single time she felt the same way, even though she had yet to be here because she was in trouble.

She had just realised she didn't know the password when the gargoyle leapt to the side, with the speed and energy of a child, scaring the life out of her. She climbed the stairs, nervously biting her lip, and knocked on Dumbledore's door gently.

"Come in," came his grandfatherly voice.

Hermione pushed open the door, and walked towards him, a thousand questions on her tongue, but she bit them back, waiting for what he had to say.

"Now my dear," he began, stirring a mug of tea gently with a teaspoon. "I wish to suggest something to you, but I implore you tell me what is on you're mind first. You are clearly troubled by something, and I fear it is the same thing that troubles me."

"I'm worried about my Harry, sir!" Hermione blurted out. "He's not himself, and I know it hasn't been long enough for him to adjust to that night, but I'm worried the damage might be permanent. I mean, just look at last night! Harry is quiet, and calm and he doesn't do that! Then when he came to the common room last night, he seemed so...so...so broken!"

Dumbledore smiled at her, and took a delicate sip from his mug, and set it back down. "I must agree with you, Miss. Granger. Harry was acting extremely out of character last night, and was clearly not responding well to the presence of others. This is where my suggestion comes in." He sighed slightly, and sat at his desk. "It is with a heavy heart that I suggest that you and Mr. Weasley do not contact him for the summer, and give him the space he clearly needs to revert back to normal. What he saw was not for young eyes, and he needs to be alone to process it."

"With all due respect sir, I disagree. He needs to be _around_ other people so that he can talk about what he has seen, and come to terms with it properly. I think that locking him away by himself is the worst choice you could make." Hermione argued pointedly.

"My dear, I know you hunger for knowledge, but you need to be more sensitive to the subject matter." Hermione turned away, blushing red, suitably chastened. She wasn't really digging for information, but Professor Dumbledore just stared at her, and it felt like he had looked right into her soul. "A feeling of being crowded, even by those loving and supportive will not help Harry with his grief. He needs to mourn for Cedric alone, in his own way. As his little outburst last night has shown, he is not well."

Hermione folded her arms grumpily. "Sir, I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, but what are you doing about Professor Snape? You heard him last night, and you're a smart man. You know he was using Cedric's death to get at Harry, and that is bang out of order."

Dumbledore smiled at her again. "Correct Hermione, I did pick up on his not so veiled insults, and he will be severely reprimanded." His eyes seemed to harden slightly at the thought of it, but maybe it was a trick of the light because it was gone a second later. "But we are getting off topic. The last thing Harry needs is to be reminded that somebody somewhere is tolling a bell for Cedric's funeral, and I feel that this would happen if he were to be reminded of it by yourself and Mr. Weasley. Harry will be coming to Grimmauld Place towards the end of the summer, and we can see then if he has improved." Dumbledore reached into his robes, and pulled out a gleaming, golden pocket watch. "And I'm afraid we have run out of time, my dear. You just hurry now to catch the Hogwarts Express. It was lovely to speak to you."

"Goodbye Professor." Hermione said unsurely, and made her way out of the office, not fully sure what to make of that meeting, and whether or not Dumbledore was right. This argument continued in her head until she reached the platform, and clambered aboard the scarlet locomotive. It continued as she sat down with Harry and Ron, and it continued the majority of the way back to London.

Harry was enamoured with Hermione for most of the train journey, staring at her as she stared out the window. Ron was talking about something insignificant, and Hermione was worried and that made him worried. He felt he had recovered from his minor breakdown the previous night, and was worried that Hermione was scared of him in some way because of what he had said last night.

He thought about her almost all the time, and whenever he thought about her, it made him happy but also sad at the same time. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him. Harry smiled as his rather beautiful friend smiled, and he knew he liked her, and not in the typical teenage relationship sort of way. No, this was something deeper than that.

He wasn't just infatuated with the way she looked, although he would freely admit that her beauty astounded him. Besides this realisation, there was really no defining point to when he had started to like her. The more he thought about it, and the further back he remembered, he had always liked her. Perhaps he was starting to grow up, and realise that, as silly as it sounded, Hermione was actually a girl.

He loved the way she talked, the way she walked,her intelligence, the way she leaned back on the balls of her feet whenever she got ratty. The only thing he didn't like was that he could never have her.

He had seen the way Ron had been looking at her this year, and had clearly come to a similar conclusion as Harry had. He knew that no matter how much he loved Hermione, he would never be with her if only to give Ron the chance he needed. He supposed it was unfair in Ron's eyes. He had money, he had fame he had everything Ron ever wanted, and Harry _didn't_ want it. Of course Harry could understand Ron's lack of understanding of what had been taken from him in replacement for this fame. Someone who had grown up with loving parents couldn't fathom a life without them, or rather never thought about one.

Sometimes jealousy and feelings in general were a grey area - not as black and white as they were made out to be, and though it frustrated him to no end, Harry understood this. That was why he always forgave Ron, and most likely always would.

Harry gazed at Hermione with a mixture of longing and love in his eyes, before he opened his book and started reading.

Ron seemed to realise the conversation was over, and huffed slightly as he folded his arms. He fidgeted for most of the train journey until he eventually fell asleep. Hermione too had fallen asleep, leaving Harry solely awake in the compartment. He smiled at his two sleeping friends, and left to get changed into some more appropriate clothes for re-entering the Muggle World.

* * *

Even in the car on the way back home Hermione was quiet, and Daniel and Emma Granger picked up on it. It was a long car journey from Kings Cross Station to their house in Crawley, and the majority of it consisted of silence, and concerned looks between the two adults. They had both tried a couple of times to ask her about what had happened, but she would try and brush it off. They were almost home when she told them.

"Harry watched another student die."

The two gasped, and Emma who sat in the passenger seat turned around to look at her. "What? How?"

"Wait what?" Dan asked, his eyebrows rocketing up in shock.

"Do you remember when I told you all about the TriWizard cup, and how contestants could die in it?" Emma nodded. "During the final task, Harry and Cedric were taken away by something called a portkey. Have I told you about portkeys before?"

"Yes, you took one to the World Cup, didn't you?" Emma asked.

"I tell you, one of those would be useful around now." Dan said, grinding his teeth lightly as they sat in traffic.

"Go on dear." Emma said, shooting her husband an evil glare. "I'm listening."

"Well nobody knows where they went, but when they came back, Cedric had been killed and Voldemort had come back to life."

"Wait a moment," Dan looked in the rear view mirror. "I thought Voldemort died over a decade ago? How has he come back? That's impossible surely, even in the wizarding world."

"It's supposed to be." Hermione confirmed quietly. "But whatever happened to Harry there, he's different, and I don't know how to help him!"

Emma's heart went out to her daughter, and she could tell how much this hurt her.

"And last night he asked me to talk to him, and he just sounded so desperate, and broken, but Professor Dumbledore says not to contact him and let him get over his grief by himself and-"

"Hermione." Dan said firmly, but gently. "You need to calm down. I know you are worried about your friend, and that is understandable, of course it is, especially given the circumstances. But you do _not_ listen to what that teacher of yours says. If you don't talk to him, he'll hate you for it. Trust me, he will."

Hermione was conflicted. Dumbledore's arguments and reasons had sounded so convincing, and appeared to make so much sense. But the prospect of Harry hating her was worse than anything she could think of. Harry had told her that last nights breakdown had been a one-time thing, and she believed him, but in his weak and malleable state she didn't want to give him any reason to dislike her. Even if he wasn't, she wouldn't want that. All she wanted was for him to be happy. She thought about what her dad was telling her and she could see his logic, and the more she thought about it, how truthful it was.

"Harry doesn't hate anybody, Dad." She argued anyway.

"I know baby, but if this is something big like you say it is, and it sure sounds it, then these are one of only four or five moments in someone's life that really change their views on things. You don't know what he'll be like after this summer, but what you do know is that you need to be there for him." Dan said passionately.

"Righto Daniel, stop scaring her." Emma raised an eyebrow dangerously, a motion that promised punishment should he continue.

"I'm not scaring her, I'm just telling the truth!" He said defensively.

"Can we talk about something else?" Hermione said, and Emma stared at her hard for a moment. She clearly hadn't wanted to talk about it in the first place, and had only done so out of necessity. After a moment however, her eyes softened and she turned back around, and slid a disc into the car. A couple of seconds later, Elvis Presley started to sing, begging for a little less conversation and a little more action.

The song seemed to be a faint backing tune to Hermione's thoughts. She considered everything her dad had said, and the more she thought about it, the more Dumbledore's voice and reasons seemed to fade into darkness. Perhaps it was time to stop talking about what she was going to do, and just do it, as she was being instructed to by the rhythmic tunes and Elvis's musical voice.

Hermione bit her lip again, something she seemed to be doing a lot more now. Her feelings and everything was so confusing! She knew there was a different sort of connection between her and Harry then there was between herself and Ron, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

* * *

That night, Hermione once again fell into a fitful and restless sleep, but instead of the blank, dreamless state she had been in last night, the last time she had had such an awful nights sleep, she started to dream.

 _Hogwarts was shining bright in the night, candlelight emanating from the narrow slit windows. She imagined archers up there, in the specifically designed windows, and the history that this surprisingly empty castle had._

 _Hermione looked around. She couldn't see anyone around her, and the only noise was the whistling of the wind through the courtyard she stood in. Despite the night and the wind, she wasn't cold. She just wasn't warm. She started to wander through into the main castle, and continued on her way to the Gryffindor common room. The castle was eerily quiet. Even in her usual midnight escapades with Ron and Harry, there was the ambient noise of flames flickering, or the wind or something, but the castle was unsettlingly silent. Everything seemed to be in black and white, besides the silently flickering torches in their brackets on the aging stone walls. They alternated every five long corridors she walked down, making most of her journey in a dark gloom, but she was still able to see._

 _Hermione was getting quite creeped out. Something was missing about this once so familiar place. It was like Hogwarts but only a haphazard memory, filtered through a bad dream. Corridors twisted into places she didn't recognise. Some hallways were irrevocably dark, others simply weren't where they should be._

 _The silence was getting to her now, and she felt a tingle go up her spine. The lack of warmth would have been uncomfortable could she feel it. She had become numb, but continued walking, unsure what she was doing._

 _It finally registered what was wrong, other than the castle itself. The walls were completely bare. There were no tapestries as there usually were, and the paintings weren't in their usual wall mounted positions. Actually, they were no-where to be seen. There were no windows of any kind, despite what she had seen outside, and the stairs were uncharacteristically stationary. The pedestals that usually held monuments and trophies and the statues and suits of armour were gone. She had yet to see a single ghost. While a ghost would usually make a bad dream worse, the day to day comfort of knowing they were there made it all the worse when they were absent._

 _There was a figure up ahead, and Hermione ran to it, and found her hearing returning, and colour starting to spill into her vision, and warmth spread through her body like a welcome virus. First came the frames, but then paintings and portraits started to re-appear, and then they started to animate. Armour faded into existence, and statues stood tall and proud. Tapestries of the house colours and crests draped down the walls, and windows started to reappear. Her Hogwarts was returning._

 _"Harry," she breathed, barely hearing her own whisper._

 _Harry turned around, a smile on his face, and his green eyes bright and full of life. He wrapped her in a hug and she surrendered to it without question, her fears alleviated._

 _She just stood there in his tight, warm embrace, revelling in it. She felt like she stood there for hours just standing there, and then she looked up, smiling at her Harry. She leant her head against his chest, and felt his strong arms around her, and if she wasn't already in a dream, she could have fallen asleep right there. She felt him press his lips against her forehead, and she turned her head up. She leant in to kiss him, and their lips were so close, about to brush against each other-_

Hermione's eyes snapped open as she rocketed into consciousness. Now awake, she groaned, wishing she could have been asleep for at least a few moments longer, before she realised just what she had been dreaming about, and what it could mean. Her cheeks burned red, and she was in a flustered state. She had never had a dream like that before.

As her dog, imaginatively called Dave barked at the postman, she made her way downstairs to quiet him down. She sat there and petted him, watching the postman make his early morning rounds. It had just clocked quarter past six in the morning, and Hermione let out a large yawn, stretching wide as she did so. As she eyed the postman in his silly illuminous orange vest, she knew she had to write to Harry. About what, she wasn't quite sure yet, but if she could start a conversation off she knew it would come to her. Her Harry needed her, and the last thing he needed to be was alone. Screw Dumbledore's instructions. Dumbledore was wrong.


	2. But I Won't Do That!

**...But I Won't Do That!**

"This mansion has an...acquired taste." Severus hissed, as he walked through the entrance chamber of Malfoy Manor. It was far to depressing for him. While he would in no way want anything different in style, it wouldn't have killed his fellow Death Eater to have allowed his windows to let in some light.

Lucius's long blonde hair swished in anger, though to his credit, his face only twitched slightly. "Yes. However it is the taste the Dark Lord prefers, and as such is why it has it's current design." He lied reproachfully.

"I'm sure." Severus drawled.

"You are not here to insult my home, Snape. You are here as we wait for the Dark Lord to reveal his plans." Lucius growled, applying more pressure than was usually applied to the cane that contained his wand.

They waited in silence for a few more moments, before a long, high pitched _ding!_ signified the wards being entered. The two steeled themselves, and then the double doors flung open suddenly, slamming into the wall with a loud echo that resounded throughout the house. Severus and Lucius bowed mechanically, and a madly cackling Bellatrix Lestrange burst through the doors, closely followed by her cloaked Master, Lord Voldemort.

"Malfeeey!" Bellatrix mock bowed. "So good to see you after such a long time. And Snapey, my favourite introvert!"

"My Lord," gasped Lucius, ignoring his wife's mad sister. "The others are waiting for you within the Dining Room."

Without response, Voldemort walked past him and into the large and overly exquisite Dining Room contained within the manor. Thick, deep purple curtains covered the Windows, and dashed any chance of light from gaining entry, bar one small crack of daylight that spilled through. Severus stood at his place among the Death Eaters, and said crack of light illuminated the side of his face slightly.

Voldemort stood before them, and Severus noticed a few things instantly. He was taller than he had been previously, and his ash white hands were unlike that of any human. As they raised slightly, and with a flick of a single finger, the hood dropped. While it would be accurate to say that his face had changed too, that would also be a gross understatement. Where a handsome face once resided, a monstrosity looked on, showing the evil that had so long rested within Tom Riddle physically. The once full head of grey hair was gone, replaced with a smooth, bald cap that looked eerily like the top of a skull. The wrinkles were gone from his face, replaced with a smooth, blemishless surface. Eyes with an iris of a deep red surveyed his most faithful intently, but coldly. That was the one expression that hadn't seemed to change with this new body.

"The Ministry has...degraded since my absence." He spoke for the first time, icicles dropping and shattering to the floor from the artic tone of his voice. It was a low, drawn out noise that caused Severus to shiver. "This is fortunate for us. Their sphere of protection has shrunk mainly to the areas surrounding London, but the Muggles are everywhere. They are like bugs, and we are to exterminate them."

"My Master," Bellatrix spoke up, her chest heaving with excitement at finally having her master back. "What are we to do for you?"

It was at that point it registered within Severus's mind, that Bellatrix, and about twenty or so others in the room with him were supposed to be in the maximum security wing within Azkaban prison. The Dark Lord worked quickly.

"Spread the word to ramp up recruiting: let the new ones attack a Muggle town of their choice to break them in. No major cities, and stay away from London and anywhere near it. Places up North, or in the Midlands for example. If they're happy, then it's good. We want them to be at their best after all."

* * *

Hermione finished the letter with a flourish, and re-read her usual messy scrawl, checking it was OK. Her writing was a far cry from Harry's fine print, but she knew he could read her writing anyway, so she didn't bother to check it was properly legible. She would have usually used the computer to type it up, but her Dad was using it for work. Clicking her pen nervously, she re-read it a third time.

 _Hello Harry,_

 _How are you? And I mean really. I don't want your lies because to be honest, you aren't very good at them. And yes, I would be able to tell in your letter, so don't be a smart arse._

 _Really though, Harry, I have to know if you're OK or not. I know you said it was just a one time thing last night, but that was a lot of pent-up anger I detected, so you've obviously been keeping it in a while, and that just set it off. Please tell me. It's killing me not knowing. And don't lie to make me feel better; like I said, I can tell._

 _I don't know if Ron's told you or not, but just in case he hasn't, Professor Dumbledore told us to leave you alone to let you grieve. If Ron didn't tell you, he's probably obeying him. While I clearly don't agree with him, believe me, he is doing this with your best interests at heart. He's worried about you, and wants to help, but just isn't going about it the right way._

 _Ron feels the same way. Like I said, I don't know if he's written or not, but if he has it'll most likely get there before mine does, as mine is going by muggle post. Sorry, but we don't all have owls._

 _Anyway, Ron. You should have seen him that night Harry: he had no idea what to do, and he clearly still doesn't. That isn't his fault, so don't you dare be angry at him. In what world would you even_ need _to prepare for a situation like this? I suppose ours, but even in the magical world, resurrection just isn't natural. He's most likely obeying Dumbledore because he thinks it's best for you._

 _I know that you have nothing to do at that awful house of yours, so at some point in the summer I'm coming over. I don't care what you say, I'm doing it. I won't go in the house if you don't want, but I_ am _coming, and you can't stop me. I need to see you Harry. I need to see how you are for myself._

 _Stay safe._

 _Love, Hermione._

Hermione chewed her lower lip as she read, wondering if it was too insensitive, and wondered if it seemed like she was begging for information, as Dumbledore had predicted, but decided it was good enough. She placed it in her handbag, and quickly rushed to the corner shop that was run by the father of a friend that she had attended school with before Hogwarts. He was lovely, and always gave her a special discount. She picked up some envelopes and a stamp, and after paying quickly dropped her letter off in the post box outside. She had sent it first class, so it would arrive the next day, but it was still slower than an owl.

She made her way home and collapsed on her bed, unsure of what to do. Usually she would be halfway finished her homework by now, but she had tried to make a start on her transfiguration essay and just couldn't begin it. She was a nervous wreck, and she really needed to hear from her friend.

She had managed to avoid her dream from from last night for most of the day, but now left alone with her thoughts, that was the only thing that swam to the forefront of her mind. She disliked that she couldn't understand what it meant, and that it had been a nightmare up until the end, but she liked the ending more than anything. The memory of the almost-kiss burned in her mind.

 _It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live._

Someone had said that so, so long ago. Who had it been? She wracked her mind trying to think of it, but she came up blank.

She thought about it now, and found she disagreed with the sentence. _Surely we need dreams to carry on our lives, as without them we have nothing to stride for?_ Hermione thought to herself. That didn't mean she could act on her own dream however. Some things just couldn't happen.

" _I need you Hermione,"_ A voice in her head said. Harry's voice. Oh how she wanted to hear him say that again.

* * *

Harry slammed his fist onto his second-hand desk angrily as he thought about the farce of a TriWizard tournament. More specifically how it had ended, and the events that had followed. He had had his bad feeling alarm going off all year, and the moment he let his guard down, it all went to hell. He wasn't deluded enough to think he could have ever beaten Lord Voldemort, but he thought he might at least be competent enough to save a friends life.

It kept replaying in his mind. The final moment of Cedric's life. He saw it over and over again, and how he was powerless to stop the death of the first Hogwarts champion. The _true_ Hogwarts champion.

He knew it wasn't his fault, of course. But that didn't prevent the feeling of sadness, guilt, and rage from seeping through him, and creeping across his mind. Harry tried to brutally crush those feelings, the emptiness to much for him to handle, but it never worked. He needed to distract himself.

One would have thought a newly resurrected wizarding terrorist who no-one truly knew how to kill would be enough to do that, but then one would be wrong.

It was then that it clicked in Harry's mind. How to distract himself, that was. Whether he liked it or not, and whether they knew it or not, the country was at war, and the leader of the opposing team had a personal vendetta against him. The only saving graces he had at the moment were two things: Voldemort had been out of the loop for thirteen years, so he had no idea where he lived, and to his knowledge neither did any Death Eaters. The only ones who knew we're the Weasley's and Hermione. And also the fact that these magical Blood Wards existed around him, and were supposed to protect him from anybody who meant him harm.

Harry looked out the window sceptically, almost as if he expected to see them after living there for so long. However, as he expected, the light blue July sky stared back at him.

He needed to get ready. A war was coming, and lazing around dwelling on dead friends wouldn't prepare him for that. He grabbed a peice of paper, and quickly jotted up a list of things he would need to be better at fighting, and each way to do them. Speed, for dodging and running away. Stamina, so he could dodge for longer, and run farther. Strength, not overly necessary for anything in particular, but could come in handy if it came down to a fist fight. Plus it was always something nice to have. Duelling. Now that one was self-explanatory. He needed to have more spells in his arsenal, and be able to use them faster, better, and if possible, make them more powerful. He needed to be more efficient.

Underneath his list he started on a schedule, when he would do what, and how he would do it. Duelling was out of the question, of course. He couldn't do any magic outside of school, meaning he had to focus on the more physical parts of his training, which he was less comfortable with.

He had a little bit of muscle, developed from the harsh Quidditch training that Wood had bestowed upon them, and further pushed to the limit during the Tournament, but as the graveyard duel had proven, it just wasn't enough. He knew there was no time like the present, and quickly grabbed some trainers and set out for a run. He had to start somewhere, right?

Despite it being only nine'o'clock on a Saturday morning, the roads were surprisingly busy. He ran on the path adjacent to them, and was returning home now. He had started running as fast as he could, which had been a mistake as he hard been exhausted and unable to run for the majority of the time he was out. He managed to keep up a steady jog, but that first run sent a message loud and clear: pace yourself.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood perfectly still despite the howling, raging, wind, and though the lashing rain was harsh in the fast winds, he was perfectly dry. After Severus had reported on the breakout in Azkaban, he had immediately read the morning newspaper, which had reported nothing. Suspecting a cover up, he had organised a visit to the prison himself, and his suspicions had only risen as he was denied at every turn. It had taken all of his titles and authority to get here today.

The large triangular structure loomed out of the clouds it towered above. Taller than the highest spire of Hogwarts, you had a unique sense of vertigo merely looking up. The structure stood on a rocky island, and had he not known better, Dumbledore would have said that the building had been carved out of a mountain. The Dementor presence was so high, that he felt the familiar cold numbness, different to the one the atmosphere was causing him, from almost a six miles away. The driverless boat docked with a low thud, and came to a stop with the ringing of a small bell. He stepped off the suddenly stable craft and onto a worn cobblestone port. Perhaps it was a sign of the weathering, or perhaps the age of the place, but the cobblestones were so worn he almost fell over just walking over them. He felt the ancient anti-apparation wards and anti-portkey wards take hold. However age was just a number, and they were old, not obsolete.

The prison had been constructed two hundred and seventy-three years before Dumbledore had been born, and had actually finished construction on his birthday. That left the structure at almost 500 years old, but it still worked efficiently. You don't need to fix what's not broke, Dumbledore mused. Despite its height, Dumbledore also knew that it extended at least ten stories underground, but it was at least halfway up that he needed to be.

It didn't take very long to walk from the port to the building, a mere sixty second walk. When he got to the first enterance, he surrendered his wand and allowed his clothes to be switched from their usual bright colour to visitor-issue grey, plain clothing. A standard security feature, to make sure no visitors had anything on them that may assist in the escape of a prisoner. He knew he would get his wand on return.

"As you may know," a gloomy looking old man told him. "The tricky part is walking through that door. As long as you don't touch the sides, you should be fine."

"Thank you, my friend." Dumbledore said, somehow managing to find a smile despite the torturous visions that flashed across his mind. He still saw her death every time a Dementor managed to get close to him. Oh how he missed his sister. The large, solid metal gate lifted, and he walked through the door way, wary of if he would touch the sides but shouldn't have worried as his thin figure made it through without consequence. The walls were ten feet thick, and it changed what should have been walking through a doorway into walking down a short corridor. He noticed as he walked, that the walls flickered ever so slightly, and seemed to shift and mutate, but always stayed in shape.

On either side of the doorway on the other side stood two Dementor's as guards, and Dumbledore very nearly cracked under the intense emotions they were bringing to him, but managed to lock the memories away behind his Occlumency shields, preventing the harrowing experience from developing further.

A short woman, dressed all in white greeted him in what he assumed was the ante-chamber. A large iron-wrought gate stood behind a desk made of stone, and behind that gate there appeared to be nine or so others. He knew it led down to the lowest level of the prison, where the ward-stone was situated.

"Hello, Professor." The woman said. "You may not remember me, but my name is Sophie Cowell. I was in Hufflepuff."

"Ah yes. Were you not a Hufflepuff beater in your fifth year? If I remember correctly, it took quite a bit of persuading from your friends for you to join." Dumbledore said, his not-so rusty memory near instantly procuring a mental file for him on the young woman in front of him.

"Yes sir, it did." Sophie told him, blushing. She was clearly surprised that he remembered her at all, let alone that little nugget of information. "Have you been told about the security systems at Azkaban?"

"I know of the basic warding," Dumbledore told her, looking around the room as if he was looking for any security features he was unaware of. "But I also know there are some I do not know. For instance, why I could not touch the doorway. I must have passed through it sixty times and still do not know why I am unable to make contact."

Sophie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Whether that was at his visitation rate, or that he was unaware of the security system he did not know. "You may have noticed a slight flickering on your way in. That was the entire building oscillating at different frequencies."

Dumbledore looked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"As we're talking here," Sophie said, "the magic from the prisoners is being drained by their cell and causing the building to vibrate at four million different frequencies a second. A continuous loop. If anyone were to breach the walls, they'd be torn to peices at the speed and scattered through half a dozen realities. There really is no escape except through the front door. The inmates know this. They know it's hopeless. Because of that, we operate with a skeleton staff."

"Simply brilliant." Dumbledore said, genuinely impressed. It wasn't often that a man of his age was impressed or surprised, but right at that point was a moment that he felt both. "How do you do it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know." Sophie shrugged. "One hundred and thirty years ago, some Unspeakables came and set to work using information they had gotten from their research to make the place more secure. I heard that they often mentioned a 'Veil' of some sort when they spoke of their research, but that was a hundred years before I was born, and I am merely telling you myths. I only know what it does and its consequences; not how it works."

"Well my dear, this all looks very impressive, I must say." Dumbledore said to her in his usual grandfather like voice. "It's certainly a unique set-up, especially compared to the Russian prison in Antartica. Were you told which prisoner I was here to see?"

"I wasn't," said Sophie, "but it doesn't matter. We have a searching spell keyed to all the cells. With that spell, any prisoner can be accessible in minutes. Just give me a moment to collect the proper book." She moved behind the desk and took out an old, red-leather bound book and opened it to reveal every letter in the English language, and even a couple that weren't. "OK. Name of prisoner?" She said, professionalism overtaking her.

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Sophie's fingers hesitated over the book.

"L," she said."L...where's the L? I can't...can't find the... Oh, here we are. Lestrange. And what was the first name?"

"Bellatrix," said Dumbledore.

Sophie nodded, tapped the name in, and waited.

"Oh," she said.

Dumbledore tilted his head. "Oh?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Professor. It looks like you've had a wasted trip. Bellatrix Lestrange died two years ago."

Dumbledore stiffened. "What?"

"Oh this is awful," said Sophie. "I'm terribly sorry. She had a heart attack. The staff here weren't even aware she had a medical condition. She died in her sleep."

"So why wasn't her death reported in the Prophet?"

Sophie blinked. "It was. I... I'm sure it was. It would have had to have been. Our Cheif Healer would have been required to process all of the appropriate paperwork."

"May I speak to him?" Dumbledore asked.

Sophie looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. Healer Taper no longer works here. Can I ask why you wanted to speak with Lestrange? Maybe someone else could help you?" She said quickly.

"I'm afraid it had to be Bellatrix," Dumbledore shook his head. "Do many prisoners die while in your custody, Miss Cowell?"

Sophie's look of embarrassment faded quickly as her mouth set into a straight line that reminded Dumbledore of his Scottish colleague. "No, Professor Dumbledore. They do not." She walked behind her desk.

"How many prisoners have died here in the last year?" Dumbledore asked.

"Four out of seven thousand. The inmates may be convicted criminals but they are nonetheless entitled to the best year we can provide."

"How many prisoner have died here in the last four years?"

Sophie bristled. "Three hundred and twelve. Lestrange among that."

Dumbledore scratched at his beard. "Can you name two of them at random?"

Sophie didn't miss a beat. "Fabian Cudgel and Elizabeth Taylor. Should I have personally informed you of _their_ deaths as well?"

"Taylor and Cudgel," Dumbledore said. "Never heard of them. What were they incarerated for?"

Sophie turned to him, jabbing irritably at her book. "Taylor was found guilty of multiple counts of robbery and second-degree murder. Cudgel was one of Voldemort's men. Just another low-level wizard."

"And yet," said Dumbledore, "you remembered the names of these unexceptional inmates without a problem. But when you heard the name Bellatrix Lestrange, a notorious and even famous serial killer, mass murderer, torturer and in here for multiple war crimes and human rights breaches with victims in the triple digits, you had to look her up. After a hesitation I may add. After a very _telling_ hesitation that seemed for all the world like you were frozen for a moment at the mere mention of her name."

"I'm sorry," said Sophie, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"What happened to Bellatrix Lestrange, Miss Cowell?"

"I told you what-"

"And I think that you are lying."

"This is preposterous. Why would I lie? I'm not a criminal. The criminals are the ones in the _cells._ "

"The _prisoners_ are the ones in the cells," Dumbledore corrected, his grandfatherly tone fading. "Criminals can be anywhere."

"I'm very sorry but I can't help you," Sophie said, her voice tight. "If you'll excuse me, I have a prison to run. The way out is just behind you, but I'll have some Dementors escort you just to be sure." Sophie turned, and started walking away.

"What happened to Bellatrix?" Dumbledore asked coldly after her.

"Good day, Professor."

"When was the breakout?"

"I said _good day,_ Professor." Sophie said stiffly, not turning back.

* * *

Harry worked throughout the morning, only stopping at lunch time. He snuck into Dudley's room to look up a few things on the computer, and knew that he would need to make a few changes to his schedule. Training was good, but there was such a thing as over training. That left him with a gap as of what to do in the afternoon. He supposed it would be recovery, and then whatever cropped up. He knew he shouldn't train the same muscle twice in a week as it could do more harm then good. How he loved when Dudley was out, and the computer was free.

Coming back from Dudley's room, he made himself a sandwich and after finishing it got back to his room. He lay down in his bed, and fell asleep quickly. He slept through the afternoon and woke at four the next morning. He didn't plan on starting his training for at least another three and a half hours, but wasn't feeling tired at all. He got up, and went to pet Hedwig only to find she was still out hunting. He sighed, and left a small bowl of water on the windowsill for her return. Another perk of staying at school over Christmas was that he didn't need to leave his window open overnight for the freezing cold air to rush in. During summer, it really wasn't so bad.

He sat at his desk, reading a book on defence he may or may not have stolen from the library. He had every intention of returning it, and though books were strictly forbidden from being taken away from school grounds, especially during the summer, he was OK with it. He was, after all, no stranger to rule breaking.

Hedwig flew in with a rush of wings almost three hours later, and started to drink from the bowl of water provided. Harry walked up to her, and petted his faithful friend as she drank.

"Atta girl," Harry told her. "What did you get tonight?"

Hedwig never stopped drinking, but used her claws to push a couple of dead mice forth to show her master the fruits of her labour. Harry winced as he saw them, never being overly fond of her habit of bringing a fraction of food home, but she always liked the praise she recieved, and Harry was only too happy to give it.

Harry sat back down and looked out at the lightening sky and wondered how Cedric's family were doing. He shook his head as he felt himself start to cry, and quickly brushed the tears away with the back of his hand. He read his book for another hour or so, before he heard the letterbox flutter and the tell-tale shuffle of paper being pushed through the door. He stood up and stretched, before making his way downstairs. He stepped over the second last step, just to be sure it didn't creak, and walked bare-footed to the front door. He scooped up the letters and briefly sorted through them. Three brownish looking letters addressed to Vernon, a large white letter and a magazine addressed to Petunia, two missed parcel notifications, and for the first time in three years, a letter for Harry.

It was an oddity for him to recieve a muggle letter, but upon looking at the hand-writing all was explained. Hermione, for he recognised her loopy scrawl, had no owl and if she wanted to start a conversation she had to initiate it by muggle post. Usually Harry started any conversations, but she had beat him to the punch this time. She had written to him on the first day back home? That sparked an alarm bell in Harry's mind and he quickly opened the letter from the girl he loved, excited but also apprehensive at it's contents.

His heart almost skipped a beat when he read that she would be coming to visit him, but he relaxed when she said that she wouldn't push to see the house. He had no intention of letting her within fifty feet of the house, lest his relatives drive her away. They were already corroded by failure, and envy, and hate, and he didn't want that rust to spread to his Hermione. He didn't want her to hate him.

The reasonable part of his mind knew it wouldn't happen. Hermione was his best friend, and would never judge him, but the instinctual fear remained within him. He knew she would not, and could not ever love him, but that wouldn't stop him from preventing her hatred of him. He just wanted her to be happy.

Harry made his way back up stairs, and deftly snuck into Vernons office. He grabbed a sheet of A4 paper from the printer, and a couple of ballpoint pens from the pot rammed full of them. He only had parchment and quills in his room, and not for the first time he cursed the wizarding world for living in the 17th century.

He placed them on his desk, before changing out of his pajamas and into something far more comfortable so he could start his run. He would write up his letter after his training.

* * *

The town of Wolsingham was stricken with chaos. Husks of cars burnt on the street, and the rubble of collapsed houses spilled across into the road. Bodies littered the ground, and explosions shook the earth, and the screams of Muggles filled the air. Callum Dolohov grinned as he fire another blasting hex at a building, ripping apart the front of it, and causing a rain of broken bricks and mortar. Glass launched through the sky and crunched beneath his boots. His grandfather had been, and now with his return, still was among the best of Voldemort's ranks. Antonin Dolohov was an old man, but he wore it well. His dark hair that was speckled with grey was unruly, but short. It was Antonin who was overseeing this little exercise.

Callum heard the delighted screech of another Death Eater as a stream of continuous yellow light erupted from the tip of his wand. Bubbly, yellow liquid dropped from the stream, burning small potholes into the road. The target screamed as the stream hit and was still screaming as his flesh was seared from his bones. When the spell had been cancelled, even the bones were gone. A loud wailing siren came into ear-shot, and a large white object with flashing blue lights rocketed towards him. He flicked his wand and the front of it exploded, sending the strange object into a cartwheel above his head, and smashing into the ground, where it rolled straight through the front of a shop.

Callum laughed and apparated on to the top of the wreck. He was level with the second story window and he kicked it apart. He used his cherry wand to incinerate the interior, and jumped down as a large fireball erupted from the window he had been standing at. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually the whole building caught a light.

Antonin watched his grandson with a smile on his face, and pride in his heart. This one little training regime was already more public then some of the biggest battles of the First Blood War, which had mostly stuck to magical locations. A haze of smoke the size of the town that had just been razed to the ground rose into the air, and drifted off over the River Wear. Surprised nobody had done it yet, he lifted his wand to the sky.

" _Mosmorde._ " He incanted, focusing on the shape, and features and size of the Dadk Mark.

The jet of dark green shot into the sky at super-speed, before exploding like a small firework. The large skull formed in the sky, and the bare jaw opened, allowing a serpent to slither halfway out. A dreadful mourning call echoed and the Death Eaters all laughed.

Now everybody knew that Voldemort had returned.


	3. Paradise By The Dashboard Light

**Paradise By The Dashboard Light**

Harry and Hermione had been keeping up a steady correspondence over the last couple of weeks, and his training was going well. Or at least he felt like it was. The letters he had sent to Ron remained unanswered, and after a while he simply stopped trying. He knew Ron was only doing it because he wanted to help, but it still frustrated him to no end. Harry was just finishing up a letter for Hermione, and re-read it before he sealed it up. Satisfied that it would do, he dropped it into an envelope and sent it away with Hedwig. He watched her go, and when she faded to little more than a white speck in the sky, he clicked the pen and allowed it to drop on his desk. One of the many things that he simply loved about writing to Hermione was the paper and pens. Not having to worry about drying ink, easily tearing parchment and breaking quills was heaven.

Hermione was scheduled to come over the next day, and there didn't seem to be anything stopping her. Not even the almost hour and a half long car journey seemed to dissuade her, and though he desperately wanted to see her, and was secretly happy that they didn't work, even Harry's sneaky plans to prevent her from coming had failed.

He knew how tight-knit his neighborhood was, and knew that if anything got back to his simply wonderful relatives, it would be hell. He didn't want to put her through that, and he didn't want anybody to even know his Hermione existed. He wanted to protect her from that aspect of him, or rather his life.

It was a little past nine at night at the moment, and even though it was the height of summer, it was darkening quickly. Harry tensed slightly as he remembered Voldemort's monstrous face, and the stark white image swam through his mind. He wasn't going to lie, because as Hermione had told him, he was very bad at it, but he dreamt about the night in the graveyard every single night without fail.

He lay in his bed, twiddling his thumbs, barely able to contain his excitement for the next day. The low, orange light of dusk retreated across the floor, being replaced by the shadow of night. His room darkened, and within moments, the world was embraced in the night air. He heard the rumble of a car engine, and stood up. He moved to the window, and although it looked out into his garden, he could also see through to the next street.

Headlights swung, illuminating Harry's face and room for a brief moment, before it continued on and out of his view. He found himself clutching his wand nervously, and his eyes darting around for any sign of something being out of place. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, he relaxed. He was getting far too paranoid, though that could sometimes be good.

Suddenly thirsty, Harry made his way out of the room and downstairs to get himself a glass of water. He walked around the bottom floor of house as he drank it, well aware that everybody was in bed. He looked out the window onto the street, and suddenly he was desperate to see Hermione, to hold her, to talk to her or anything. Letters were all well and good, but nothing could really compare to the real thing.

Harry brought the glass upstairs with him, and flicked on the switch to his bedroom light. Thinking better of it, he switched it back off quickly, and he sat down at his desk and flipped on his smaller desk lamp. He pulled out _How to defend against the Blackest Arts_ by some obscure Spanish author, that was translated into English so he could read it. He sat in his chair, leaning back comfortably and reading his book in the dull light that illuminated his room.

As he read, he held the book in one hand, and practised the wand movements described in the book with a pen while incanting the words. He usually would have done it would the his actual wand in school, but didn't want to risk accidentally casting a spell during the summer. He still remembered Dobby's last visit.

Before he knew it, daylight started to creep back into his room. It wasn't completely light yet, but there was enough to see around and get by. It would have been a lot brighter had the seemingly endless sprawl of clouds not covered the sky completely. He wasn't completely sure at what time Hermione would arrive, but he assumed it would be sometime after lunch, which left him enough time to start his little schedule off. Legs today.

He grabbed what used to be a baggy grey T-shirt, but now fit him quite nicely, and some tracksuit pants. He stretched and yawned, something he seemed to be doing a lot recently. His sleep pattern was completely screwed, what with him often not sleeping for thirty-six hours in a row. He knew he needed to get that sorted out, as it was not healthy in the slightest.

After he had grabbed his trainers and had set off at a steady pace, which had increased in speed since he had started, he thought about the contents of Hermione's latest letter. She had informed him that he would likely be going to a place somewhere in London called Grimmauld Place where Sirius lived which excited him.

Hermione seemed a lot more open in her letters than she usually did, but Harry assumed that that was just his imagination at work. He hoped she was OK however, and he was confident that she would tell him if anything was wrong. Wouldn't she? He found himself worrying about her more and more recently, despite her assurances she was alright. Though he wasn't as good at reading people as Hermione was, he could still pick up little hints of things being off in her letters. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that if it was anything she would tell him if and when she needed to.

Harry hummed along to the music that was beating in his ears. He had dug Vernon's old Walkman out from the attic, just to make his runs a little bit more interesting. It worked, and it often distracted Harry from undesirable thoughts.

* * *

Hermione woke quietly, and snuggled into the warmth of her bed for a few extra minutes, before she heard her dad calling her downstairs. She cursed lightly, an expression she would never say if front of anybody, and stood up unsteadily before quickly getting changed and making her way downstairs. She found herself quite nervous about what she was going to wear, which was strange as she was never really fussy about what she wore.

"Come on 'Mione!" Dan called upstairs, as she made her way down them. "Grab some breakfast and then we'll be off. I'll be over to pick you up at seven, OK?"

"Sure thing," Hermione said with a smile. Eleven whole hours with just her and her Harry sounded like paradise. Not that she would ever admit that, of course. Over the last couple of weeks Hermione had been struggling to find more and more excuses for the dreams that constantly invaded her sleeping mind, rational ones that was, as she constantly rejected the truth, not even considering it as an option.

She grabbed some bread and stuck it in the toaster. Her dad was having a funky little dance to the radio in the hall, and she found herself giggling girlishly, and she felt like she was eight years old again. She quickly poured herself a glass of milk and began delicately sipping it, whilst her dad tried desperately to sing in tune with the song.

" _We were barely seventeen, and we were barely dressed!"_ Her dad sung terribly, dancing his way into the kitchen. The music continued to play in the background, but thankfully for her ears, he managed to stop before they burst. "Who would have thought that song describes your conception?"

Hermione choked on her milk, and winced at the images that flowed through her mind. "Dad, no, no, no! Why would you say that? Oh my God!" Dan just laughed at her discomfort, and made his way to grab a cup of tea.

Hermione shivered at the unwanted image, but by some act of God managed to shift it to a deep dark corner of her mind, where it could hopefully be forgotten. She was thankful when her mum came downstairs, dressed in little more than a dressing gown and pajama bottoms. How most people probably looked like at half six on a Sunday morning, if they were even awake. Hermione and her father were early risers. Emma was not.

"Mum, please tell dad not to destroy my innocence?"

"Why what's he done now?" She asked. "Is it really necessary for you to get up so early? You make so much noise!"

"I just want to see my Harry!" Hermione said.

Emma arched an eyebrow, and a cruel smirk spread across her face. " _Your_ Harry?"

"Oh shut up mum!" Hermione giggled, albeit going red and flicked a crumb at her mum. Emma laughed, knowing her daughter was infatuated with the boy, even if she didn't know it yet. There we're a few moments of silence that reigned in the kitchen, with only the up-beat tempo of the song in the background. Dan and Emma happily danced their way around the kitchen, with Emma catching a peck on the cheek as Dan drained the last few dregs of his sweet tea.

"Right, after interrogating our dear daughter Hermione's not boyfriend, and disposing of his body, I shall return with bread, milk, cheese and wine. Fear not, fine maiden, for I shall only be gone for an hour or two." Dan mock bowed to his wife.

"No!" Hermione squealed, and Dan's roaring laugh only grew louder.

* * *

Hermione slept through most of the car journey to Surrey, needless to say, suitably scarred for life. Her dreams about Harry had been becoming far more frequent, so it didn't surprise her when she had another one.

 _Hermione felt the car pull up, and stepped out of the small red hatchback, waving goodbye to her father with a smile on her face. Her dad waved back, uncharacteristically silent, but tapped his watch and drove off. She assumed that meant that he would be back to pick her up by seven._

 _The overcast sky had withdrawn, leaving way for the bright blue to replace it, and the golden disk to shine light onto the small house in front of her. She walked up to it, her ever scanning mind detecting the sign that read it as Number Four Privet Drive. Without hesitation, she knocked, and the door was immediately answered by Harry. He embraced her, and pulled her into the house._

 _The house was about as realistic as a dream could have been. The dimensions were wrong, the house being larger than physically possible, and the large bay window she had seen in the front garden somehow overlooking the back. The walls were painted a baby blue, and the skirting boards were a dark brown colour. The stairs continued this dark wooden theme, except with a pale yellow carpet that trailed up to the upper floors. The house seemed completely empty, besides her and her Harry._

 _Harry smiled, and never spoke, but leaned in for a passionate kiss. Hermione melted into it, though she felt nothing at first but desire, and a wish for it to be real. When she opened her eyes, she was in the bedroom, a bedroom that was looking similar to the Gryffindor boys dormitory, before looking out the window she saw the signature silver hoops of the Quidditch pitch glinting in the sunlight, hinting that it_ was _in fact, the Gryffindor boy's dormitory._

 _Hermione found herself breathless as Harry gently but strongly pushed her so she was lying down on his bed, pinned by his hands on her wrists. He pulled his grey Hogwarts jumper over his head, and his shirt and tie quickly joined it discarded on the floor. He gently gripped the bottom of her school jumper, and looked into her eyes, almost as though asking for permission._

 _Hermione bit her lip nervously, but nodded, and her jumper was slowly lifted over her and joined Harry's on the floor. She felt his hot breath on her neck as he unbuttoned her shirt, and undid her tie, and she closed her eyes in the ecstasy of the moment, though nothing had yet happened. She felt her shirt being opened, and her nude upper body being put on display for Harry. This was heaven. She went to open her eyes, to stare into the unique green orbs that he possessed..._

However when her eyes opened she was staring at the mesmerising white lines of the M23 as they streaked past at seventy miles per hour. Still clothed, still in England, and still not with her Harry. Her smart mind had been working overtime recently, wondering what the funny feelings she had about he friend were, what her dreams meant, why they were so diverse but all had a similar ending. There had even been a one which she felt she may have enjoyed a bit _too_ much, judging from her state when she had woken up, not unlike the one she had just had. She was confused to no end by these feelings, and dreams and whatnot, and had never even considered they might have had something to do with emotions.

Hermione's mum had changed that, though. Her teasing, playful tone that morning had not gone amiss in Hermione's calculating mind, and it caused her to wonder: did she love Harry?

The obvious answer to an obvious question, was of course she did. He was like a brother to her, and they did everything together. She shared her homework, she told him her secrets, and he told her his. That was why it stung her so much that she hadn't told him about his experiences at the hand of Voldemort.

Except, was he? Was he like a brother to her? Maybe, but did she _really_ think about him that way, if she was being honest with herself? While she didn't have a brother, so couldn't attest for sure, she could confidently say that the dreams she had been having about Harry were not the sort you had about your brother. Definitely not. At all. She sighed internally and snuggled down further into the car seat, upset at having her dream ending so soon. She tried to close her eyes, as if that would bring the dream back to her, but after an unsuccessful ten minutes of that, she sat up.

"Heya, Hermione." Her dad said, smiling good-naturedly. He was still humming along to the song he had been listening to earlier that morning, despite the fact the radio was playing the traffic report. "Good sleep? We're almost there. We'll be getting off the motorway in about five minutes, and then it's just a couple minutes drive until we're there."

Hermione stretched her arms theatrically, and yawned. "Brilliant dream dad." Not that she would ever tell him the contents. They would likely make him want to eviscerate Harry on sight. "Did you say you would pick me up at seven or half seven?" Hermione asked, knowing the answer, but hoping to push her time with Harry a little longer.

"Seven." Her dad reminded her firmly. Then he blurted out what had clearly been bothering him for a while. "Harry is just your friend right? You'd tell me if there was anything going on right?"

Hermione could have laughed at how worried he was. "Dad, you don't need to worry. We aren't doing anything, we're not dating, and we aren't anything other than friends." She paused. "Though I think I might like him as more than that."

Dan ran a hand through his hair, and snorted slightly. "Tell me something I don't know."

Hermione gaped. "What?"

Dan smiled again, and reached across the car to give her a one-armed hug across her shoulders. "That's the difference between me and your mum, eh? Special father-daughter connection. I can tell these things. Plus that you tell me everything. I can read you like a book sweetheart, though I think Emma has her suspicions as well."

"But I didn't even know until right now! I'm still not even sure!" Hermione said, still agape.

"Oh, 'Mione my dear, you're so right. You've always loved Harry, even if you just didn't know it."

* * *

Dumbledore furiously tapped the five digit number into the phone booth, and picked up the reciever. He tapped his foot, agitated as he waited for the annoying feminine voice to answer him.

"Hello. Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, with the current Minister of Magic being Minister Cornelius Fudge, as voted in circa 1987 by the current Wizengamot of the time. Please state your business at the Ministry today. If you would like other information, please dial one."

Ignoring the instructions, Dumbledore held down the zero, and was rewarded as the phone box shuddered, and receded into the ground, an exact copy replacing it. The Attium was stupendously large, but Dumbledore had seen it millions of times, and was hardly amazed by the vastness of the government building. He knew it extended underneath most of London, with the elevators serving as a small rail network to each department.

With a light _ding!_ the phone box settled on the floor, and Dumbledore stepped out. He walked towards the welcome desk, and placed his wand on the smooth black surface for inspection.

The man who sat there was funny, and after a light chuckle, Dumbledore found his mood considerably brightened, even as he strode towards the Ministers office to have a 'friendly chat' about the mystery of the breakouts that surrounded Azkaban. Cornelius had been putting it off for weeks since his little visit to the island prison, but Dumbledore didn't want to give him the opportunity of him being late as an excuse to leave early. As such, Dumbledore had arrived ten minutes early.

He reached the grandiose door untheatrically, and knocked once, forcefully. A loud boom echoed across the large golden door, and then the door opened to reveal an equally large and grandiose office, with a large, birch desk. It was at this desk in which sat a squat man in a grey pinstriped suit, and a matching bowler hat on the desk beside a small stack of paperwork. He looked up from something he had been writing, and forced a smile when he saw who had entered.

"Ah, Albus!" Fudge cried. "So good to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Dumbledore forced a smile of his own, though his was a lot more convincing. He _had_ had an extra hundred and twenty years on perfecting it over the fifty year old Minister. "And you too, Cornelius, though I fear this conversation will not be as pleasant as I would like."

Fudge's smile seemed to wane slightly, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. He placed down his quill delicately. "Yes, I assumed as much."

"Cornelius, you are one of the smartest men I know." Dumbledore began sagely. "In fact, you may be the smartest. I remember, you took your OWLS in fourth year. Your NEWTS in sixth. All O's without dispute. As a child prodigy, and later with your experience as a politician, let alone the youngest Minister of Magic to date at forty-eight years old, you have done a more than adequate job of covering up the breakouts in Azkaban. In fact, I never would have known had it not been for my sources."

Fudge's smile had gone now, replaced with a straight line that gave away nothing. "I'm not going to ask how you got your information Albus, as I would not like to arrest you. I am, however, going to ask why you insist on informing the magical world of The Dark Lord's return."

Dumbledore stiffened slightly as the air in the room got considerably colder, merely by the tone of the Minister's voice. "Cornelius, the citizens and civilians need to know so they can be prepared. If an attack were to occur, they would be caught by surprise, and unable to defend themselves. Your continuing to deny Lord Voldemort's return does not help this. Especially when you cover up Azkaban breakouts."

"I am fully aware of The Dark Lord's resurrected state," Fudge said coldly, steeping his fingers. "However, I felt it prudent not to inform the population of such a threat. What would be the good of the outcome? Voldemort would see no reason to hide. He would attack magical and muggle towns without relent, and the population would run and scatter in fear. They are like children, against a wolf. They have no hope of defending themselves."

Dumbledore ground his teeth. "When did you accept that Lord Voldemort had returned?"

Fudge snorted. "I saw it in the Potter boy's eyes. I was always good at reading people. I put my plan into motion, and I have my top hit-wizards who have been sworn to secrecy working on wiping out as many of the Death Eaters as possible. When that is Done, and Voldemort is alone, without backup, you and as many people as we can find will likely be required to take Riddle down."

"Cornelius, surely you see the error of this!" Dumbledore pleaded. "While most of the older Death Eaters deserve nothing of the sort, the younger, newly recruited ones may be able to see the error of their ways, and may be forgiven! If they have not yet taken the Dark Mark, then there is still a chance to save them!"

"Which is why I have only ordered hits on known Death Eaters with confirmed Dark Marks." Fudge said. "I don't slaughter children. I remember hearing the stories of the Grindelwald Wars as it raged around me as a child, and I witnessed the Blood War firsthand. I don't intend for their to be a second one. If you would be able to give an empowering speech at Hogwarts this semester, it may go a long way in changing possible Death Eaters from that course of action."

Dumbledore was still insistent however. "And what if Voldemort were to attack Diagon Alley, say tomorrow? With you denying his return, you would be thrown out of office in days."

Fudge stood up, angrily. "A sacrifice I am willing to make for the protection of the people! The hit-wizards are under strict orders to continue the mission no matter what happens to the government, and will only be called off by me directly. Riddle is unlikely to attack anywhere soon, as he will be trying to regroup, not knowing that we are picking his ranks apart, peice by peice. If all goes well, we can get rid of him before anything spills over into the public domain!" Fudge took a breath. "You likely know from your little Bird-Watching club, an illegal organisation that I turn a blind eye at, that there was an attack in Wolsingham a couple of weeks ago. We spun it so that there was a muggle plane crash, and tried to re-arrange the rubble in such a way, but it was a close call. We need to do this as quickly and silently as possible. Imagine the reaction if the people knew Voldemort had attacked!"

Dumbledore's nostrils flared, and he took a moment to calm down. "So you have it all figured out then?"

"Yes." Fudge said coldly and bluntly. "I know what I am doing, and it is the smart idea. I am not doing this to be recognised by the public, only to protect it."

"And when did you learn of Lord Voldemort's true identity as Tom Riddle?"

Fudge looked at Dumbledore. "As you said earlier, I was a child prodigy. I know a lot of things. And while I don't know how he was resurrected, or how he survived, I do have my suspicions. Now I would like you to leave my office, as I have an appointment with the Croatian Minister of Magic. She does hate to be kept waiting."

"This isn't over, Cornelius." Dumbledore said, walking out the door, terribly unhappy with how the meeting had gone. He had barely managed to get a word in!

* * *

The dark grey sky hadn't brightened much as Harry returned from his run. The sweaty T-Shirt clung to his broad shoulders and defined chest, and he rested against the wall to Privet Drive momentarily. A red Mini-Cooper slowly took the corner, and pulled up by the sidewalk a couple of meters ahead of him, on the other side of the road. He brushed his messy hair out of his eyes, but even in the gloom of the morning, he recognised the beautiful bushy head of brown hair by her silhouette alone. The door opened, and a man who appeared to be in his late thirties stepped out. He wasn't very tall, and Harry instantly knew from his appearance that he was related to Hermione in some way - likely her father.

The door closest to him, the passenger door, opened, and Harry was instantly hit with the beauty of his best friend. As her head turned slightly, she was illuminated perfectly. Paradise, illuminated by the dashboard light.

Hermione stepped out, a smile on her face, and she ran across the road towards him. He was about to accept the inevitable hug, when he realised how sweaty he was and pushed her away. "Sorry 'Mione," he panted. "I stink."

Hermione laughed slightly, but refrained from hugging him. Her dad walked up behind her, with a serious expression on his face that didn't suit it. The man clearly couldn't hold it for much longer, however, and broke out into a massive grin.

"Hey Son," he asked, offering a hand for Harry to shake. Harry gratefully shook it. "I'm Daniel Granger, Hermione's dad. Just call me Dan. I assume from my daughter's eagerness to hug you, that you are, in fact, Harry Potter, and I am in the right place?"

"Well," Harry said, now standing up straight and having managed to get his breath back. "If Magnolia Crescent is the right place, then you sure are. I have to say, sir, I didn't expect you and your daughter to be here until after lunch."

"Dan," Dan reminded him. "And I would have expected as much - but you know Hermione! Always got to be early for everything!"

Hermione frowned at that.

Harry laughed. "You're telling me! I remember in our third year, she could time travel, and was still always twenty minutes early for every class we had. It was mad! Wend no idea how she did it at first, but she told us in the end. It was kind of dissapointing if I'm honest. We just sort of assumed she could teleport."

Dan laughed with him, and Hermione stood there pouting. She was glad the two were getting along, but not glad it was at her expense.

"That's a story she never told us. Time travel? You've been holding out on us, Hermione." Dan grinned at her. "Anyway, I've got to go before your mother flips. I'll be back at half seven, OK?"

Hermione jumped in happiness, excited her dad had extended the time. "I'll see you, Dad!"

"See you, sweetheart. See you Harry. It was nice to meet you!" Dan said, walking back over to his car.

"And you too, sir!" Harry shouted after him.

"Dan!" He called back, waving without looking. He climbed into his car, and the lights hummed into life. He waved out the window as he drove off, and within a minute or so he was gone.

Harry stood there for a moment, but nothing could fend off the wild Granger for very long, and she pounced on him, desperate for a hug. "How have you been!"

"I've been alright I suppose. What about you?"

"Brilliant now I'm with you!" Hermione beamed at him, her face looking infinitely kissable. Somehow, he managed to resist the urge.

"Tell you what, there's a park just round the corner behind us," Harry jerked a thumb to the direction Hermione had come from. "I'll run and get a shower, and meet you there."

Hermione pouted again, feeling a lot more comfortable doing so without her dad present. It wasn't something she did a lot, but was the second time she had done so today. Despite the fact that Harry had been her best friend for over four years, she felt anxious in his presence, and there was a suppressed heat within her. "Leaving a girl on her own in a park when she's come all this way to see you?"

Harry laughed slightly. "You can wait outside the house if you want. Just listen to this while I'm getting changed, and we'll go when I'm done."

The outside of Harry's house was nothing like she had dreamed, and when he opened his front door to step inside, she saw that the interior was different as well. The floor and stairs were a green carpet, and the skirting boards and stair banister were a stark white, and in completely different positions to those she had imagined. Then the door closed, and she was left with over ear headphones and a bulky old Walkman clutched in her hands. She hummed slightly to a tune she didn't recognise, an d after the first song, she took the headphones off momentarily. It was then that she heard the shouting from in the house and suddenly felt really awkward.

The door opened a moment later and Harry stepped out and closed the door,meeting his head against it, a dismal look on his face at first. However that quickly evaporated when he saw Hermione, and was replaced with a growing smile.

Hermione had an unsure smile of her own, but a look in her eye that was questioning, and demanded answers. She gave him back the headphones, and gathering up her Gryffindor courage, she took his hand in hers, and they walked towards the park Harry had mentioned. They sat down on a swing each, and as they gently swung, Hermione started to tell him all about her summer, and what she had been doing, and how she had done it.

"But I don't care about any of that," Hermione interrupted herself, brushing her long hair behind her ear. "I want to know about you. How have you been holding up this summer? And I mean really? Any nightmares?"

Harry smiled sadly, and nodded. "Quite a few. And I think it's made old one's resurface as well. Nothing much to talk about, but they're still there."

"I always thought you were exaggerating about your family," Hermione said quietly. "I guess with my parents, I never guessed that anybody could be like that. Just know that if you want to talk about your nightmares, you can." Almost as soon as she had said that, a hand flew to her gasping mouth. "Oh Harry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to bring that up so casually! I know how you feel about the subject! That was really insensitive of me!"

Harry chuckled slightly, and stood up. "Oh, 'Mione. Don't worry about it! I mean it." Hermione started to cry, and he wrapped her in a hug, his strong arms surrounding her. It was just like she had dreamed, if not better. He smelled a bit like cinnamon with a hint of something a bit more masculine, giving him a distinct aroma. His arms were stronger than she had imagined, and he had gained muscle since they had been at Hogwarts. He seemed fitter, stronger. He was just as caring as she had remembered him. Nothing had changed.

"Oh Harry!" She said into his shoulder. "I was worried about this! Dumbledore told me I would be too insensitive and I can see now that I am, and I'm sorry, and-"

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered to her, his eyes wide and panicked, unsure what to do with a crying girl. "It's fine, OK? You didn't listen to Dumbledore though, so your good! Your here, which is more than I could ask of you. You have no idea how much I appreciate it, 'Mione. I really do." He sighed into her hair slightly. "Anyway, enough tears. If you want to listen, I'll tell you about my nightmares. I..." Words failed him momentarily, and he felt Hermione shift to look up at him as they did so. "I need to tell somebody. In person that is. And I can't tell anybody in my house. Once in a summer opportunity when Hermione comes, I guess?" He joked lightly, and was glad when Hermione rewarded him by snorting cutely from underneath.

"I can't help him, 'Mione." Harry told her, letting go ang sitting back on his swing. "I never can. I go to the graveyard every night, and every night I know what's going to happen, and every night I can't stop it. I just can't. It won't stop. Pettigrew... It's him. He was the one who took Cedric from the world."

Hermione listened intently as he listed all his nightmares, and described each one in vivid detail. She seemed to have an almost morbid curiosity, and her eyes swelled with more and more tears as Harry told her what he had had to endure.

"He-he," Harry gulped. "Voldemort tied me to a gravestone, and used every spell he knew on me to torture me. Then he let his followers have a go. Then I had to duel him. I-I couldn't do it, Hermione, I just couldn't do it!"

"OK, Harry." Hermione said soothingly, as she felt the pressure in his voice rise. "It's OK now. You said old one's had resurfaced?"

Harry flinched slightly. "I don't really think we should talk about those..."

"Why not?" Hermione asked him, a supportive hand on his shoulder. She wished she could take his pain away from him, or help him in some way other than just listening to him. She wished she could help.

"It's Vernon, and when I was younger." Harry said quietly. "He never let me leave, I had to run away, alone. He just wouldn't stop. He had to get the 'freak' out of me."

Hermione gasped at this revelation, but didn't speak.

Harry felt the anger rising in his own voice. "So many beats and tears, so many wasted years, before my life became my own!" He clenched the swing chain so hard, he felt it dig into his hand.

Hermione felt tears spill over her eyes as he told her about everything, and she listened intently, knowing he would need somebody to hold when he was done.

"And though those nightmares should be over," Harry paused, and heaved out a heavy sigh. "Somehow after the graveyard, the terrors are still intact. I hear that ugly, coarse and violent voice, and then he grabs me from behind and then he gets his belt and then he pulls me back, and then-"

Hermione couldn't bare it anymore. She leapt into Harry's lap, hugging him as tight as she possibly could, and felt him start to sob into her shoulder. She had never seen Harry cry before. She had never heard him cry before. Even Ron had commented that he never seemed to cry, and Ron wasn't very observant. Now that he was here, crying into her own shoulder, it reminded her of just how human he was, and how he was just like anybody else.

And if Dumbledore didn't want anybody else to be there for him, than she would happily take up the task.


	4. Braver Than We Are

**Braver Than We Are**

There was an ear-splitting crack of apparation as Tom Riddle disapparated from the recently commandeered Malfoy Manor. Yes, there were wards to prevent this, but he was Lord Voldemort, and as such, these rules did not apply to him.

A concern had overtaken Tom during his 13 disembodied years he had spent wandering the world, and when he had come to his new body, it made him rather angry at his past self's arrogance. Should anybody find out his identity as Tom Riddle, then it would not be a stretch for them to find the precious soul containers that preserved his life. Every single one, without fail, had a significance to Riddle, and was stored in a location of equal value. If he wanted to be truly immortal, he needed to take his Horcruxes off the book. Uncharted.

The Cup of Hufflepuff had been extracted from Bellatrix's vault and discarded into the ocean. It still served it's purpose of preserving his life, not affected by the miles of crushing water above it, and due to its weight in gold he doubted it would wash up anywhere. The best hiding spot, in the middle of no-where. The diadem was still within Hogwarts. He had no way of accessing it at the moment, but he was assured of its safety by the fact that the room was so well hidden, and even if it was discovered, the discoverer would not know a Horcrux was there, or what room to ask for to access it. Then, by some unbelievable stroke of luck should they manage to do that, they would have to find it.

No, that one was safe where it was. He had recently...punished Lucius for his carelessness with the diary, rage consuming him. He was still alive, for now. Minus a finger or two perhaps. That was a loss, but not too large. That was, of course, why he had created multiple. The ring had been put under a brick in the ruins of a crumbling fishing house at the very tip of Scotland, and he was confident in his magic to protect the locket in the cave near Wools. Nagini was, of course, always with him.

Which brought him here, to the Alps, to create what he believed was his seventh Horcrux, seven being the most magically powerful number he knew of. Riddle looked around, the view breathtaking, though he cared little for it, and was happy to see no muggle expeditions or the like happening nearby. Even better.

He reached into the deep pocket of his dark, near black, green robe and withdrew a silver pocket watch, two entwined snakes engraved on it's cover. He twirled it in his hands, observing it, relishing in its dark power, before he hurled it towards a rocky outcrop where it bounced off and vanished from view. He was confident the snow would cover it soon. He was right.

With another crack, Voldemort was gone, leaving the mountain silent save the howling wind.

* * *

There was another loud _Crack,_ this time as a pink hard-boiled sweet crunched beneath Hermione's teeth. She had a worried expression on her face, and kept licking her lips nervously, and looking around to see if anybody had seen.

"I feel so naughty!" Hermione whispered to Harry as they stood in the kitchen of Number Four Privet drive, the usually hidden sweet jar down from its usual hiding place.

Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had gone to visit Aunt Marge for the weekend, and hadn't bothered to inform Harry until they were leaving, and even then it was to warn him against stealing any food. They had left him five pounds for dinner the two nights, but had been 'generous' enough to allow him to use the cereal for breakfast and the bread and cheese for lunch. How kind of them.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, 'Mione," Harry said, considerably happier than usual. "It's one sweet."

"This is my second one."

"Two then."

Hermione swallowed and beamed at him. "I would be in so much trouble if my parents found out about that!"

"Who are you, Willy-Wonka?" Harry teased. "Did you have to wear one of those strange helmet-brace things? Are your parents sweet-nazis?"

"Very close," Hermione blushed, nervously picking up another one of the sweets. A green one this time. "But my parents would never allow it to get to that stage. But I wasn't allowed to go trick-or-treating."

"Neither was I." Harry shrugged, picking up a sweet of his own. "I know your parents are dentists, but do they not see that it's a bit strict?"

"My Dad used to give me a Marathon at the end of term at school, if I got good grades." Hermione told him. "But I was never allowed to tell my mum. It was our secret."

"Sounds cool." Harry smiled. "It's weird now they aren't Marathons anymore. What's the new name?"

"Snickers. But they'll always be Marathons to me."

"I've never had one, but Petunia always used to buy Dudley a one on the way back from school. Or a Twix. Or a Mars Bar. Or all three."

"That explains a lot about his weight," Hermione said in a sing-song voice, and Harry burst out laughing causing Hermione's eyes to widen.

"That was so rude of me!" Hermione cried. "I'm sorry, it's just-" she paused. "I don't even know what made me say that."

But Harry was still laughing. "That's the best thing I've heard this whole holiday. He is a bit fat, isn't he?"

"A bit?" Hermione snorted. "I guess you could say that."

Hermione stood up, and grabbed her coat, before making her way to the front door. Harry raised his eyebrow.

"Got somewhere important to be?" He asked.

"Yeah," Hermione said, throwing his coat towards him. "And you do too. Come on, let's go."

Harry slipped his coat on and followed Hermione out into the sun. "I'm not wearing my coat in this." He said, turning back and discarding it on the floor. "You," he said, pointing a finger at her, "are mental."

"It _is_ a nice day, actually." Hermione mused. "Oh well. Let's go."

They walked to the end of the street, and Harry finally managed to get an answer out of Hermione.

"It's hardly a surprise," Harry told her. "We don't have many places to go. What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you a Marathon."

"Snickers."

"Whatever. You have not experienced the joy that is a Marathon, and I can't have that."

"So you're looking for a shop," Harry said.

"Well done, Mr. Observant."

Harry grinned dashingly at her. "I do try. For instance, my observation skills have noted that we are walking in the opposite direction to a shop. Unless, of course, you want to go to the town centre which is awfully far away."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, sighed and then pouted. "I hate you."

Harry grinned despite the feeling like a knife had gone straight through him. "No you don't. Let's go."

They turned around and started making their way towards a little corner shop that Harry knew of, which was surprising considering the little amount of time that he spent here. Though, he supposed, the time that was spent here was almost always spent outside of the Dursley residence, if he could help it. They were halfway there when a large burst of flame exploded into existence before them. Hermione shrieked in fright, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

Fawkes. Dumbledore's Pheonix. The musical melody it produced was so mesmerising he almost forgot that a mythical creature had appeared magically on the most gossip prone street in Little Whinging.

"Is that-?" Hermione whispered, but didn't finish.

Harry nodded, and plucked the envelope that the clawed bird was offering. Thankfully, Dumbledore's familiar vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Harry holding some surprisingly intact parchment. What, considering the flames it had been privy to, courtesy of Fawkes.

Harry looked from the letter to Hermione, who gave him a reassuring smile and gently took his hand, then back before sliding his finger into the crease and tearing it open swiftly.

 _Harry, my dear boy,_

 _You once asked me at a point near the end of your first year, why Voldemort tried to kill you. With his return, I believe it prudent to share this information with you. I only hope you can understand why it had been kept from you these years, and that you may forgive me for doing so. However, this is not information for young ears._

 _If the circumstances had been different, I am not afraid to tell you you would still not know._

 _I shall arrive to pick you up at four'o'clock today. Miss Granger may accompany you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore._

"Oh damn." Hermione breathed, reading the letter over his shoulder. "He knows I didn't do what he said. Do I feel ashamed? Why do I feel ashamed?"

Harry ignored her, and tried to think of the ways that this could go over, and what information could be revealed to him. It wasn't a new tune, as he had been trying to figure out Voldemort's reasons for killing, or attempting to kill, a seemingly random baby with no reason. He hadn't got anywhere yet, every theory either being refuted by information he hadn't remembered when creating it, or making absolutely no sense. At the moment, he was blank.

"This ought to be interesting," Hermione was saying. "I've thought about it myself a couple times. Well, I'm sure everybody has. We won't have to wait long, either - it's ten to four now. I'll get you that chocolate and then we can be off."

* * *

The shop not being too far away from Number Four, Harry and Hermione were waiting in the back garden, peacefully enjoying the sun when Fawkes reappeared, this time with Dumbledore in tow.

"Really?" Hermione was saying incredulously to Harry, not having spotted the Headmaster or his Pheonix, despite their not so subtle enterance.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, giving her a cheeky grin.

Hermione slouched back in her chair. "Really?" She said, more slyly this time, clearly unbelieving of whatever it was Harry was telling her.

"Yeah!" Harry was indignant.

"Really?" Hermione's eyes widened and she suddenly sounded a lot more interested than she previously had. He briefly wondered what their conversation was about.

"No."

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, leaning down and plucking a handful of grass before throwing it at him. "You really had me there!"

"That was the point," Harry said, his roguish grin returning.

Dumbledore smiled to himself, as they chatted away like an old married couple, before swallowing loudly, causing their conversation to cease and their heads to turn towards him.

"Hello Harry, Miss Granger." Dumbledore continued to smile. "While I have every confidence in the surrounding wards as myself and a few others that I trust put them up ourselves, I feel that this conversation would be more appropriate if it took place within my office. If you would both grab onto Fawkes tail feathers. Not too rough."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then at the Headmaster, and after exchanging brief greetings and please tries, they both took hold of individual tail feathers and with only a slight harmonious note to indicate any change, Fawkes, Dumbledore, Hermione and Harry burst into flames, vanishing into thin air.

Harry was hardly surprised to see that he had rematerialised in the headmasters office. The first thing he did was catch a stumbling Hermione who was disorientated from the travel. She beamed at him, her cheeks crimson. The room was just as grand and elegant as Harry had remembered it, though Fawkes' perch seemed to have moved slightly closer to Dumbledore's desk. Perfect for a quick getaway. Dumbledore, the sneaky bugger, was getting ready to run should an attempt be made on his life.

"I see you've moved Fawkes' perch," Harry commented airily, seeing if he could spark a reaction out of the aging man.

"Yes, I have." Dumbledore smiled to him. "In these troubling times, I feel much safer when he is closer to me."

"It also provides a quick getaway should someone barge in here," Hermione commented, coming to a similar, if not the same conclusion as Harry.

"As perceptive, and intelligent as ever Miss Granger. Though I do believe Mr. Potter got there first." Dumbledore chuckled, moving to sit behind his desk. He flicked his wand slightly, and two equally comfortable chairs skidded across the room and stopped in front of his desk. "Please, sit." He took a sip of tea. "There was a time, that should someone come in to kill me that I would not fight it, and only hope that their soul could be saved. However, as egotistical and pompous as it sounds, now that this war has started I believe I would be too great a loss to accept my fate so willingly."

"If all goes to plan, this war should not last nearly as long as the First Blood War, though I would be hard pressed to believe that the casualty rate would be any lower." Dumbledore peered over his glasses at the two. "Miss Granger. While I do not impede free will in any case, may I ask the reason that you wrote and visited Mr. Potter, against my wishes?"

"You may sir," Hermione told him. "And it's because I disagreed with you. And as far as I can see, I made the correct choice."

"Then I applaud you, Miss. Granger, for realising my mistakes and taking it upon yourself to correct them out of the goodness of your heart." Dumbledore said sincerely, a kind smile dancing under his twinkling eyes. "I only hope you can accept that apology."

"Accepted, sir." Hermione blushed, looking down at her feet, her face glowing with embarrassment.

"Now," Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "The reason we got through the last war was by staying United as a country. An organisation that I founded and led, known as the Order of the Pheonix, worked closely with the Ministry in the war effort. As you know, at this moment in time the Ministry is publicly denying Voldemort's return. However, no slanderous articles have been printed about Harry or myself just yet and I believe that until we can become more co-operative with the Ministry, we must keep up that united front. This is what frightened Voldemort last time, and I believe it will work this time."

"But that'll never work sir," Harry said. "With all due respect sir, I can't think of any attacks that were called off in the First Blood War because of this."

"But it _does,_ Harry." Dumbledore pressed gently, in a way only he could. "I've seen it before. By uniting, even if we just _appear_ braver than we are, we are already halfway to standing against those who wish to oppress us. Even you can Harry. I know you can. In fact, I would go so far as to say you have to. Which leads me on to why I have asked you here today."

Harry sat up a bit straighter and leant forward in his chair slightly. Once again, he found his hand in Hermione's and he smiled slightly, fighting down a childish blush.

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to determine the best way to explain this information to Harry. "I'm going to start by repeating the contents of my letter: I am telling you this because Voldemort has just returned. I feel that had I waited longer, disastrous results could have taken place, which could have resulted in deaths of friends and a significant lack of trust between you and I. What I am about to tell you is not to be taken lightly, and years of gruelling, merciless training are sure to follow, though I fear we don't have enough time for that."

"What's going on?" Harry whispered, getting quite scared.

"This information is vital. While I know that Ronald is your dear friend I must implore you keep this from him. And I mean it this time, because from what I have heard he cannot keep his mouth shut. Should this information become common knowledge, Voldemort would likely see no reason to hide and the streets would run red with innocent blood." Dumbledore ordered, seriously.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other with wide eyes.

"I am going to tell you the reason that Voldemort survived that night, and also the reason he came to kill you in the first place, Harry. Tell me, have either of you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

Harry was staring right at Dumbledore now, entranced, hooked onto his every word. "I can't say I have."

"Neither have I," Hermione admitted. "annoyingly."

Any other time, Dumbledore would have chuckled at that, but the mood was serious, and the rooms air somber. "I would be surprised if you had, considering its obscurity and dark nature. It is not something commonly taught anywhere, let alone here. It is a disgusting perversion of nature, designed to take an unspeakable act and use it to tear the user's, in this case Lord Voldemort's, soul in half, and store it in an object."

"So that if the user was killed, half of their soul would remain," Hermione caught on, turning to Harry, excitement at new knowledge bubbling beneath her chocolate eyes. "Meaning that if a ritual like the one performed at the third task were to be performed, the user could be restored to body because their soul never left the mortal plane! Fascinating!"

Dumbledore did start to laugh this time. "Miss Granger, you are wise beyond your years. Yes, that is exactly what function it serves. However, because of the magic the soul of a magical naturally produces, it makes the vessel that the soul is contained in almost unbreakable. And to make one, one of three acts are required after a ritual is performed. Rape, physical torture, or murder will suffice, and the Horcrux is created, granting immortality."

"I can see Voldemort doing those things," Harry said, feeling slightly sick.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "And there is something else you must know. The average wizard ages about half as fast as a non-magical. I, while looking near enough of a one hundred year old muggle, am actually almost two hundred. With a Horcrux, and your soul split in half, this aging will once again, half."

"Meaning Voldemort can live to be upwards of four hundred years old!" Hermione said, horrified. "What can we do?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I wish it were that simple. However, Riddle is smart. And he knew that one day someone would become aware of this, his most kept secret and he created not one, but six. And I fear that upon his return, he has created a seventh."

Harry's hand flew to his mouth. "He can live for fourteen hundred years? Are you kidding?"

"No, I am not." Dumbledore said, looking Harry dead in the eye.

There were a few moments of silence while that information sank in.

"So how can we do it?" Hermione repeated her question. "How can you destroy him?"

"I cannot," Dumbledore admitted. "But we'll come to that momentarily. A strong enough blow would do it. I have researched extensively, and the only magic I have found that could even have a _chance_ of destroying one would be the curse which produces _Fiendfyre,_ or a Killing Curse from the creator him, or herself. However, other physical methods may work. I have looked into Pheonix Tears, and Badilisk Venom, as well as simply dumping it into a cauldron filled with the most corrosive concoction we can create. I may have hit a block on that front: the cauldron dissolves near instantly. As well as the desk. And the floor. And whatever else it touches."

"Like the blood from _Alien,_ " Hermione blurted, garnering some strange looks. "Oh come on, you have to have seen _Alien._ "

Harry, having not seem too many movies with his simply wonderful childhood stared at her blankly. Dumbledore gave her a curious look.

"Seriously? 1979, Ridley Scott? Not ringing any bells?" Hermione said exasperated. "Really?"

Harry slowly shook his head and Dumbledore cocked his head questioningly.

"Wow. Okay. Well Harry, you and I are having a movie night at some point. Forget about it for now."

"Well," Dumbledore turned away from the pretty bushy haired girl. "All of those methods should work in theory. And I know that Basilisk venom works in practice, because you, Harry, have already destroyed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Harry collapsed back into his chair, and Hermione's head snapped towards him, her eyes demanding an explanation. "The diary," he breathed.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "The diary. So to answer your question, Miss Granger, Basilisk Venom, Fawkes and the most corrosive potion we can make."

"OK," Harry said. "So we know how he survived. Now you just need to tell us why he tried to kill me. And I get the distinctive feeling I'm not going to like it."

"I daresay you won't," Dumbledore told him truthfully. "Before your birth, a prophecy was created-"

Hermione slammed her fist on the desk in a surprising fit of uncharacteristic anger. "I swear, if you're about to tell me that Voldemort tried to kill Harry because of a damn _prophecy_ I am going to throw something."

"Then I suggest you leave the room." Dumbledore replied instantly. "I know of your opinions towards prophecies. Myself, Minerva, Severus and Filius are in agreement with you. However, while the majority of prophecies are fake, true prophecies _are_ made, and when validated to be so, they are stored in the Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. This is one such prophecy."

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches_

 _Born to those who have thrice defied him,_

 _Born as the seventh month dies._

 _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,_

 _But he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not,_

 _And either must die at the hand of the other,_

 _For neither can live while the other survives._

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_ Dumbledore recited to the two teenagers with a sigh. "I hope you can understand why I kept that from you."

Hermione was about to leap at the older man, screaming like a banshee, about to tear him to shreds. " _Of course you should have told him sooner! What were you thinking?! This is his life!"_ Harry could feel it, and as he felt the temperature in the room start to rise, he rested a reassuring hand on Hermione's soft forearm, instantly calming her.

"I understand," Harry said, shocking Hermione. "How do you explain that to an eleven year old? And you thought Voldemort was dead. Hell, I still don't fully understand it, but I think I get the gist of it. No, you did the right thing. I just hope you train us as well as you can, because if that means what I think it means, then I think I'm going to need it."

* * *

The air was cold when Harry and Hermione reappeared in the back garden of Number Four. Hermione started shivering, and Harry instantly started to rub her arms quickly.

"The warmth from the wards should kick in in a minute," Harry told her, still rubbing her shivering arms. "Quite cold for an August night, am I right?"

Hermione just nodded, but true to his word, she felt warmth start to spread through her. Wordlessly, the two entered the house, and collapsed on the sofa. The television flickered into life, and it turned out Harry had landed on the remote.

"Wanna watch something?" Harry said,the amber sunset casting long shadows into the room.

"I guess," Hermione said, leaning back into Harry. Instinctively, he flinched away slightly, but then relaxed into her. She grabbed a blanket that rested on the sofa with one hand, and guided Harry's arm around her with the other as she covered the pair of them with the blanket. "Give me the remote,"

Smiling slightly, Harry passed the remote to her and waited to see what she would put on. An unwelcome thought overtook his mind, and he frowned. "If you put on anything even remotely girly, I'm gone."

Hermione laughed at that, and Harry felt her shoulders vibrate as she did so. She was warm, and comfy, and taking a deep whiff of her hair he decided she smelled like green apples. He didn't know why they were green apples, but that's what came to his mind. To be honest, she'd always smelled of apples. Was it weird that he noticed that? He should probably stop doing creepy things like that, he ultimately decided.

Hermione lay back into Harry's muscular chest, feeling safe in his encircling arms, and flicked through the channels until she came to a re-run of an old _The-A-Team_ episode. Her dad had made her watch all of them, and as such, she had developed a love for them.

Hermione shivered in pleasure as she felt Harry squeeze her slightly tighter, and sniff her hair. A bit weird, but she loved being close to him. His radiating body heat and the feeling of him was unmatchable. She smiled, her eyes closing as she started curling up closer to him and allowing him to hug her in a more comfortable position. His hot breath felt wonderful against the back of her head, and though she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, she was not uncomfortable in the slightest. She forgot about the prophecy, and everything she had learnt in Dumbledore's office today, and completely melted into the embrace. She loved this. She really did. Did it actually get better than this? "I love this..." she murmured, vocalising her thoughts.

"Hmm?" Harry asked, not having heard her.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, worried she had ruined the moment, and quickly back-pedalled. "I love this show," she saved, smoothly. "I always used to watch it when I was younger."

"I've not seen it before," Harry admitted.

"You've not seen anything," Hermione decided abruptly, leading a deep, rich laugh from Harry to emanate. His bobbing chest caused her to smile again.

* * *

Her mum was making toast when Hermione walked in, and Dave was sitting on the floor grinning in his weird little dog way. Hermione scooped him up. "Good evening," she said, and Dave barked.

Her mother turned. She looked surprised and... something. Something else. "I didn't hear you two come home. Did you have a good time? Where's your dad?"

"Dad's getting some shopping from the car," Hermione said. "And yeah, it was fun. Didn't get much studying done, though."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about that. You work too hard as it is."

"I _am_ a hard worker," said Hermione, frowning slightly. "Everything OK?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. I mean..." Her mother hesitated, then turned fully and gave a sad smile. "I lost my job."

"What? Mum..."

"It's OK, it's OK. I knew it was coming I suppose. We all did. Dentist branches are closing down all over the country so it was really only a matter of time before it hit us. It's worse for others. At least Dan is still employed in his firm, and I was down to three days a week anyway..."

"And we have literal magic," Hermione reminded her.

Emma frowned. "How would that help?"

"Think about it. I could be a traveling witch and make loads of money," Hermione joked. "No, but it would have to help some way."

Emma laughed slightly. "That's yours. No magic required."

"Yeah, but it's yours, too."

Her mum turned, spread butter on the toast. "Nope, that's not how it works."

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. "Of course that's how it works. I can do whatever. It's magic. I'll magic up some money, or do something. I'm serious. You tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Emma smiled at her. "That's very nice of you, sweetheart, but we don't need it. I have my redundancy, and Dan has his job-"

"But there isn't even enough work going around to keep him busy. He spends most of his time playing golf, Mum, and he doesn't even know the rules."

Her mum hesitated, then nodded. "They hate him over there..."

"He works in a dentistry, and you were a dental surgeon. When I was younger, that was great, but it's been nothing but bad news for the last few years. Do you honestly think I didn't notice that things were getting tougher?"

Her mum smiled at her. "Sometimes it's hard to tell with you."

"Well, I noticed, but I didn't say anything because I thought you knew that everything I've been learning isn't just about me. I mean, when have I ever cared about money? The only thing that matters to me is that you, dad and Dave are happy and safe and healthy. I know that Hogwarts isn't cheap, but I've been telling you since first year: I'm going to pay you back."

Hermione watched her mother take a deep breath. She wanted to hug her, to share this moment with her as honestly as she could, but she had promised her dad she would help him unload the car and he was probably waiting for her.

"I tell you what," she said authorativley. "You tell my unborn, un-conceived baby sister or brother that they can go to the best school in the world when they're older. Money is not a problem."

There were tears in her mother's eyes. "You're so good, 'Mione."

"I have my moments," Hermione said, and gave her a smile and left the kitchen, depositing Dave onto the floor as she moved to help her dad. She shut off the regret as soon as it sprang up. She'd hug later, when the car was unloaded, when the war was over, and when her Harry was safe. When she was sure the world wasn't going to turn inside out.


End file.
